Relaxing Holidays (was the plan, anyway)
by EcoWarriorX
Summary: After a stressful sixth year, McGonagall tells Snape's friends to make sure he relaxes on holiday. Cue Regulus with his novel idea- a slightly different camping trip. More Slytherins than intended decide to come- and when all too well-known acquaintances turn up, chaos ensues...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The recipe is mine but most of the ingredients are out of Jo Rowling's cupboard.

This is the prologue to my idea of what a bunch of bored, teenagéd Slytherins might get up to in the holidays if left unattended.

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'Mr. Avery!'

Sebastian Avery looked up.

'Yes, Professor?'

'Would you be so kind as to cease attempting to build a- that- whatever- with Mr. Mulciber?'

With difficulty, Avery tried to pretend the two foot high tower of assorted stationery and books had nothing whatsoever to do with him. Mulciber did the same.

Next to them, Snape gave his practised dramatic sigh and raised his eyes to the dusty ceiling.

'Now that I have all my student's _full_ attention,' Professor McGonagall continued, giving the three of them a sharp look, 'I would like to remind all of you that, though I know you are looking forward too the last summer holidays you will ever have at this school you by no means have a reason to completely slacken off. I will be giving you plenty of homework and I fully expect my colleagues will do the same.'

Ignoring the mutters and groans, she adjusted her glasses.

'The NEWTs you are facing will, of course, be very trying for all of you. I expect you to try your best- better, if possible. It still seems many of this class do not realise the importance of your final examinations. As you have only one more week until the holidays, then six weeks till your seventh year, you need to be understand that.

'Now, I have here the courses you have chosen to enrol in or continue with next year. I will now read them out in case of mistakes. After today, your choices are compulsory.'

She proceeded to unroll a large roll of parchment and read out the lists.

'Avery- Transfiguration Higher, Charms Basic, Potions Basic, Defence against the Dark Arts Basic, Astronomy Basic, Herbology Basic. Black-' and so on. Until-

'Snape-Transfiguration Higher, Charms Higher, Potions Higher, Defence Higher, Herbology Higher, History of Magic Higher, Ancient Runes Higher, special courses Alchemy, Complex Magizoology, Classic Languages, Magical Literature. Also taking a Friday evening course at the Institute of European Potioneers and joining a weekend philosophy group in Hogsmeade.'

'You intending to sleep, mate?' asked Rosier incredulously.

'Only when absolutely necessary-'

'Mr. Snape, I wonder whether it is entirely advisable to take so very many courses?'

'I can manage.' said Snape defensively.

'Well, if you insist-' said McGonagall, and moved onto the next student.

After the bell rang, Professor McGonagall took Avery, Mulciber, Rosier and Selwyn quietly aside.

'I suggest-' she said, ' -you try to make sure he does something other than school work throughout the holidays. We don't want him dying of brain fever.'

'Oh, we'll keep him occupied.' said Avery, grinning.

o*o*o*o

And that is how Severus Snape found himself driving a car of raucous teenage boys through England.


	2. Chapter 1- Camping

,Disclaimer: I'm just playing around with Rowling's action figures.

This first chapter is mainly setting the scene for later chapters.

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It had started out quite harmlessly- the suggestion, on Rosier's side, that they go camping. It had not been meant entirely seriously, but what felt like half of Slytherin house had agreed, full of pre-holiday euphoria and simultaneously rather bored.

When exactly that simple idea had turned into that of a no-magic, muggle-style camping holiday in an idyllic muggle camp site down by a lake nobody knew, although Snape rather suspected that Regulus Black, who seemed to be tiring of the pureblood mania of his household, had come up with _that_. And why everyone had agreed was simply impossible to understand, especially those who, just the other week, had written obscene graffiti on the stone walls of the dungeons- about Muggles. But everyone had agreed, and everyone was excited, and no one would listen to Snape's doleful 'I have a bad feeling about this'.

So one car packed full with ten boys and another containing nine girls (Bellatrix had, to general relief, refused to come) were driving dangerously along a relatively empty, winding country road. Severus Snape and Sapphire Morgana Divine, as the only holders of muggle driver's licences, had decided to act as chauffeur, because, to quote Snape: 'Well, _I'm_ not risking my neck being driven around by those lunatics.'

They did rather seem like lunatics just now. Someone had discovered the muggle radio, and had tuned into some awful station playing rock and roll, to which the entire car (save Snape) was singing along with quite some gusto. The quality of their singing was, however, _not_ helped by the fact that they had no idea what the words were and had never hear of rythm.

Still, it was a lovely day, the sun was shining down through the windows of the car and even Snape, loath as he would be to admit it, was soaking up some of the summer holiday atmosphere.

Even Regulus's screaming of bad Muggle lyrics -_wrong_ bad muggle lyrics- into his ear couldn't get rid of that.

Somebody was handing out drinks and food (with difficulty- the car was meant to hold only seven passengers, so seats were being shared and laps were being sat on), and the windows had been wound down.

The girl's car, cruising along behind them, seemed less rowdy.

They had a beat-up old mini bus that had belonged to Sapphire's mad uncle (deemed insane by the pureblood Divine family because he had liked muggle technology, but he had at least taught Sapphire to drive), which held the supplies for two weeks.

Two weeks seemed like a long time, thought Snape dubiously for the thousandth time

He had voiced this opinion once, only to have it immediately squashed by the ever-enthusiastic Regulus ('It'll go by in no time, just you wait and see.) _I doubt it. I really doubt it. Not with this lot behaving like four year olds._

'Are we neeeearly theeeere yeeet?'

Snape groaned. _See? It starts already._

A little over three hours later, they had arrived at the camp site. The manager, an elderly, balding muggle, was _not_ thrilled at the prospect of having nineteen teenagers ruin his main season. He told them to stay on the opposite shore of the lake and for heaven's sake _keep quiet._

His daughter was quite the opposite. A cheerful, plump woman, they were barely able to get away from her long and involved account of exactly which difficulties her daughter was facing at university and why her husband's dog was so ill. But finally, they got back into the cars and drove around the shorter end of the lake, where they found a suitable spot and spilled all the equipment onto the grass.

Putting up the tents proved quite a chore. In their moment of madness they had decided not to use magic for _anything_, including this.

As only Severus knew how to put them up, Sapphire having only had contact with the muggle world to gain her driver's license, it was rather tiring for him.

They had three large tents for the boys and several smaller ones for the girls, tent which had been scrounged from friends and relatives or, in some cases, bought from expensive shops by the richest pureblood students. This made for an interesting mix.

Finally, after a lot of sweating and swearing, the tents were standing fairly well.

Severus stood back and surveyed the scene.

It was certainly a novel sight. Most of his house mates had never worn muggle clothing before and seemed to be feeling rather self-conscious in their shorts and t-shirts. It was rather funny to see them staring at perfectly ordinary things like matches and torches like they were utterly alien and totally weird.

_And they're usually such pompous, pure-blooded know-it-alls_, he thought. _It's quite refreshing to see them like this_.

Some of the girls had got a fire going with sticks Rosier and Wilkes had fetched out of the forest behind the camp. A few boys had already braved the muggle swimming trunks and were splashing around in the lake. Regulus, who was bouncing around like an over-enthusiastic puppy, had hitched a large green flag carrying a silver snake onto a long stick.

Snape worried for a moment over whether that was altogether advisable in an all-muggle area and in the current political climate, but then he let it drop. It was, after all, the holidays.

He'd expected to have to deal with everything himself, but apart from the tents everything seemed to be running perfectly well without him. Crabbe- slow, lumbering, fifth-year Crabbe- seemed to be in charge of the cooking. He'd taken a huge, black, cast-iron pot out of the mini van, filled it with some mysterious ingredients, and was now stirring it with a wooden spoon.

Snape decided to take a short walk around the place. Might as well see what he'd let himself into for two weeks, he reasoned.

The sparkling, glittering lake was larger than he'd thought. It wasn't so wide, but the length must have been several miles. It was lined as far as Snape could see by a beach which had sandy parts as well as pebbled areas.

The forest behind the camp was ancient and huge. _You could get lost in there for days_, thought Snape, looking at the distant treetops silhouetted against the blue sky.

There was a village, the manager's daughter had told them, only a few miles away, easily reachable by road, and a farm even nearer. Crabbe had mentioned going there in the mornings to get fresh milk, cream, butter and eggs, and maybe sausages and bacon.

Speaking of Crabbe, whatever he was cooking smelled pretty darned good. From where he was standing, against the fringe of the trees, Snape could see wafts of tantalisingly scented steam rising and wafting in his direction.

Strange, Crabbe had always been the thick one, the stupid one. Perhaps he had some talent hidden behind those piggy little eyes, after all.

What were the girls doing? Snape screwed up his eyes to see. They seemed to have brought all sorts of rubbish with them- deckchairs, blankets, various knick-knacks. They appeared to be decorating the tents with them and dotting chairs along the beach. Merlin, they'd even brought along soft toys, photographs, and vases to put flowers into. What was the _point_?

It was still light, although it was getting late in the evening and the sun was nearing the horizon.

Satisfied with the camp, Snape went to unpack his things.

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The first few days were fairly problem-free. Early in the mornings, when the air was still cold and the world was still warming up, Crabbe and a few others would walk down to the muggle farm, where they really were able to get food.

Meanwhile, a few boys would be collecting wood in the forest, whilst the girls tidied up and generally cleaned, and some braved a swim in the lake.

Sometimes, small groups would drive down into the village to fetch other things, like spare muggle batteries or blankets. Regulus had even found (in some second hand shop) and bought an ancient-looking muggle device which he could use to make the car radio even louder, so that often the music echoed right around the tents.

Around the camp fire they had laid tree trunks to use as benches. In the evenings it could get really snug, with the fire crackling and Crabbe's special hot chocolate being handed around. Joshka Parkinson had taken his guitar with him, and other instruments had also been brought.

Dolohov (who had actually already left school, but had come anyway), had bought huge amounts of paper and paints at the muggle village shop, and had already discovered a talent for watercolour painting.

Snape was interested to see how quickly his classmates got used to the routine of muggle camping life. They had certainly got used to the clothing quickly, although any muggle technology still confused them utterly. And he still admitted to being baffled as to how whole-heartedly they'd accepted the idea.

Everyone had by now realised what an excellent cook Crabbe was (he even admitted to having occasionally watched and helped the family house elves when his family was out).

The snake of Slytherin was to be found everywhere- Dolohov had painted little silver snakes all over the tents, Cecilia Turpin, who had some experience with a needle and thread, had sewn snakes onto bits of material. The snake had generally been accepted as a sort of group emblem.

There were a few happenings- Rosier, for reasons known only to him, had mistaken Crabbe's bottle of golden syrup for his admittedly similarly coloured bottle of shampoo, and after his subsequent bath in the lake he had had to endure teasing about his weirdly sticking-up hair. One of the girls, Rosalie, knocked a bottle of ink over Snape's homework. Crabbe made friends with a cat by feeding it scraps (no-one could work out why in Merlin's name he had had to call it Cuddles- it went to show how little they knew him).

But nothing huge happened, nothing even especially interesting.

That is until, on the fifth day, a second large collection of tents appeared on the opposite shore of the lake.


	3. Chapter 2- The Others

Happy New Year, everyone!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.

As this is my first fanfic I've put on the Internet, I'd really appreciate reviews.

It was Regulus, of course, who saw the new tents shortly after sunrise on the fifth day.

He'd woken up early and was wandering aimlessly along the lake's shore.

To be honest with himself- he was beginning to feel really rather bored. At first, what they were doing had seemed so _interesting_, so_ new_.

He had been brought up as a well-behaved, pure-blooded wizard and had never done anything against the will of his family (at least, not when there was even the slightest chance of his mother finding out).

He had always dressed correctly, behaved correctly, spoken correctly and spoken about things his family considered to be correct themes. For Merlin's sake, he'd even _thought_ correctly.

Sirius had hated him for it, of course. Little mummy's boy, he'd always said, you have no will of you own, you just mindlessly follow others.

And now, fifteen years old, Regulus had finally dared to do something _different. _If only his mother could see him now, wearing, as he was, a pair of very muggle shorts and a t-shirt with the amusing slogan 'I come with my own background music'. For days now, he had acted like a muggle, eaten muggle food, listened to muggle music, slept in a muggle tent. Only for the adventure.

And now he'd got used to it and it was _boring_. Couldn't something interesting happen for once? Say, some kind of crime, maybe, or- or- or an earthquake? Only a very little one, obviously. With maybe a touch of a tiny volcanic eruption.

He sighed and toed a pebble. He might as well admit it, he just want to do something, see something, meet new people, OK?

And then he saw the tents that had been put up in the middle of the night. It was very hard to see them, because they were so very far away and there was mist over the water. But they were certainly tents, at least ten of them.

And he could see people. Young people. Teenagers!

_Ha! _thought Regulus as he ran back to the camp. _Now the fun begins!_

Regulus was amazed how ungrateful his supposed friend Snape was at being woken up early- even though the news was so interesting.

He was, in fact, quite definitely grumpy.

'Don't wake me up just because some more tents got put up in the night. Then you might as well wake me up every morning. It's summer, Regulus, this camp site's main season, more people are coming every day.'

'But they're teenagers! Our age!'

'Oh, great. As if we didn't already have more than enough teenaged idiots around the place.'

'But we can do stuff with them!'

'Hmmf.'

And already Snape was asleep again.

A few of the others showed a little more enthusiasm, especially once the sun had risen a little more and _especially_ once everyone had had a coffee or three.

The general interest rose somewhat after they all realised that it really was around twenty teenagers, by what they could see of the indistinct figures across the lake, without adults.

Not only Regulus was beginning to get a bit bored, some others had also started to find the everyday life in the tents a little monotonous.

So Regulus, Cody Burke and Daielo Shafiq (the youngest and most enthusiastic members of the camp) decided to at least wander vaguely in the direction of the main entrance, under the pretence of asking the daughter of the owner something. Then they would accidentally-on-purpose walk past the new tents and see if there was anything of interest.

And Crabbe began to make lunch (he had somehow managed to get hold of three huge, fine fish) whilst the others went on a hike in the woods, swam in the lake or just slept in the tents.

'Shush!' whispered Regulus. 'Cody, be quiet!'

He crouched behind a tree, rather enjoying playing the spy, and peeped out furtively.

'No, no-one there. Shame. Do you see anyone, Daielo?"

'No, I see no-one. I guess they've all gone down to the village or-'

Suddenly, they heard a voice from inside one of the tents.

'Put that thing away. We're muggles, forgotten already?'

Regulus mouth fell open.

At the same moment, Daielo found a coin amongst the sparse grass.

On it was the picture of a unicorn.

And it bore the engraving: 'Gringotts- One Sickle.'

'And you really couldn't see who was in the tent?' asked Sapphire again.

'No, really. The tent was zipped up. I couldn't find any gaps, either.'

'And you didn't see who'd dropped the coin?'

'No. I'll bet it'd lain there for hours.'

Sapphire let herself drop down onto the grass next to one of their tents.

'What did the voice sound like?'

'Male. Dunno how old. Fairly young, no older than, say, twenty five.'

'Did it seem familiar to you?'

'Not really. Maybe a bit. But voices can sound really similar anyway.'

Snape, who had been listening quietly, cleared his throat.

'Well.' he said finally. 'How big, logically seen, is the probability of two similarly sized groups of young wizards turning up at the same muggle camp site completely by accident and with nothing to do with each other? I mean, when you think how many camp sites there are in England.'

'Small.'

'So they might be here because of us. Unless one of you knew they were coming and let us come here because of it?'

They all shook their heads silently.

'If it were at least a special lake or something... but we're in a perfectly usual muggle place.'

'Yeah.' said Regulus cheerfully, 'If it were one of those naked camp sites, then the presence of several groups of highly interested wizarding teenagers wouldn't be so- I mean, because of all the naked girls and so on-'

'My word, Reg.' said Snape dryly. 'We've only just got away from your parents and already you're developing dirty thoughts.'

'Oh, no, I've always had _them_.' said Regulus, even more cheerfully. 'Only I always had to hide them, you know? Because of Correct Behaviour and Decorum and all of that.'

'Back to our actual subject of discussion.' interrupted Sapphire hastily.

'Yes. Those others.'

Then Sapphire stretched.

'Oh.' she said. 'It doesn't really matter for now. If something's wrong we'll notice soon enough. I think Crabbe is finished, and my stomach at least is of the very firm opinion that we ought to worry about those delicious-smelling fishes for now. Anyway, it's going to rain fairly soon, look at those clouds. I for one want to make the most of this last bit of sun.'

So, for now, the meeting broke up.

But, all day, curious eyes kept straying over to the other shore of the lake where the mysterious tents stood, straining to catch a glimpse of the possible wizards. Once they saw a plume of purple smoke, and once an owl winged it's way across the water. But those were the only signs of magic.

But then Regulus, always curious, found himself walking back down along the beach, vaguely in the direction of the New People. Yes, he was supposed to ignore them, but he was bored, for Merlin's sake, and he wanted to do something.

He rounded the end of the lake until he was nearer to their tents than to his.

He heard some rustling in the bushes on his left. He turned around-

'Sirius?'

They had decided to meet. Three Slytherins and three Gryffindors would meet in neutral territory, i.e. halfway between their two camps, to discuss the situation and come up with some ground rules for a peaceful holiday.

So Severus Snape, Sapphire Divine and Regulus Black were walking along the white sand.

'It's a good thing your brother didn't attack you straight away.' remarked Sapphire. 'The way I know him...'

'He was to shocked. I was shocked, too. Of all the thousands of people it could have been, of everyone I could have met, _him_, of all people...'

'Look.' said Snape. 'There they come.'

Regulus shaded his eyes with his hand. The sun, by now, was blinding (the rain had yet to come).

He saw three people coming towards them.

'Oh, great.' he groaned. 'Sirius, Potter and that know-it-all Evans.'

It was. The other two could by now also identify the three.

Soon, they were standing opposite each other.

Potter was wearing cut off jeans and a white t-shirt. Sirius' clothes appeared to be expensive, he also wore a pair of sunglasses that were perched on his head in a way he obviously considered cool. Lily Evans wore only a light, cotton summer dress with a flowery print, and a straw sun hat.

Snape couldn't help how but think how pretty she looked.

'Let's keep it short.' he said briefly, before they could say anything. 'We seem to be here utterly by accident and coincidentally. We needn't meet. You pretend we aren't there. We pretend you aren't there. That's all.'

'Hey, wait one moment.' said Potter in that awful trying-to-be-cool way he sometimes had.

'How are we to know this is a coincidence? Seems awfully unlikely to me.'

'Well we certainly didn't know you were coming.' said Sapphire coolly.

'Yeah, then we'd've stayed right away. As far away as possible.' said Regulus, looking at his brother coldly.

'Reggie.' murmured Snape warningly, 'let it be...'

'We didn't know either.' said Sirius.

'Gut.' said Snape in a carefully businesslike way. 'Then that's sorted out and we can go-'

'Wait.' said Lily.

It was the first time she had spoken. Snape had to concentrate to stop the goosebumps from making him shiver.

'We don't even know why you're here, how many of you there are. We'd like to know that before you run off again.'

'I don't see what that has to so with you-' began Regulus, until Snape interrupted him.

'There's nineteen of us, we're here for two weeks, are only here for the camping.'

'And swimming and fishing and hiking and-'

'Yes, we know, Reggie.' Sapphire stopped him. 'We're just simple tourists, OK? And now you can tell us what you're doing. And then we can all go.'

'There's eighteen of us, from different houses, not sure, how long for, have no exact plan as to what we'll do.' said Potter, shrugging his shoulders.

'No plan? How very... Gryffindor.' said Snape coldly. 'And now we can go and stick to our rules. We have nothing to do with each other. You stay on your side, we stay on ours.'

Regulus took a stick and drew a line in the dirt.

'Yours - ours.' he explained, pointing.

'Reggie.' whispered Sapphire warningly. 'That's- slightly childish...'

'OK, OK.' said Potter. 'Ours, yours, we ignore each other. Got it. Bye.'

'Bye- for ever.' said Regulus dramatically.

'Sorry, Reg, slightly childish again.'

'Oh, I _do apologize_, Sapphire.'

And that was it. The two groups turned around and went back to their own camps.

Even though the Gryffindors had sworn they had not know of the presence of the Slytherins, Snape was not entirely convinced. It was too big a coincidence, surely.

Had they lied? Black and Potter would lie without batting an eyelid, but Lily... Lily was no liar, and surely wouldn't have let Black lie.

So long as the two groups stayed out of each other's way, there ought to be no problems. All the snakes had promised to stay on their own side of the lake. So as long as the Gryffindors kept to the rules... but still, it was strange, definitely strange...

That evening, the rain began. As the general mood was not great anyway, Regulus switched on the muggle car radio and turned the volume up with the ancient muggle loud speakers.

The rock music began to thud over the camp.

Daielo, Cody and Regulus collected together all the torches and hung them in water proof places, so that beams of light shone across the wet floor.

Crabbe rose to the occasion by brewing a steaming pot of hot punch.

They didn't have much with them, they couldn't use magic and the weather was awful but, by Merlin, Slytherins could party (at least, up to a certain age they could- and as long as no parents were watching).

The rain did nothing to stop them, after all, they were all British and very used to rain, and anyway, as Regulus was fond of saying: 'There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.'

The party went on into the small hours.

On the other side of the lake, matters were entirely different. A few figures, dripping wet, sat around a camp fire that was, despite all their efforts, slowly dying, whilst similarly soaked people tried to fix the leaking tents.

And all the time they could hear muffled rock music echoing across the lake, hear voices laughing and shouting, and see beams of light flashing around the Slytherin camp.


	4. Chapter 3- Problems and Encounters

Many thanks to bilo for reviewing, haruhichan123 and thegirlinthewindow for following and slenderpanda597 for her kind PM.

**Breaking News at the Daily Prophet!**

Public Health Department at St. Mungo's releases ground breaking report- studies by Unspeakables prove that reviews ward off depression and greatly benefit mental health, as well as invigorating the imagination muscles and strengthening moral.

_#Rita Skeeter_

Disclaimer: Anything said by Jo Rowling, written by Jo Rowling and thought up by Jo Rowling belongs to (you guessed it) Jo Rowling.

And vice versa, the rest belongs to me. Including the mistakes.

Everything felt so different, now that the Gryffindors were there (and, apparently, a few other house members, as well).

It had been a good deal better without them. Even though, strictly speaking, there was no interaction between the two camps and in theory there should be no difference to before, it took some of the fun away knowing that they were not the only wizards.

It was a shame, thought Regulus, that it had had to be them. Practically any other group of wizards would have been a good deal more fun- say, a bunch of pretty Beaubatons students, or some fun Durmstrang guys. They could have done stuff together. It would've been _cool_.

But no, of course his brother- ex-brother, he reminded himself, he was no longer related to that disowned _prat_- had to turn up and mess with their otherwise great holiday. With all the other loser Gryffindors.

Snape found himself looking over the still waters of the lake yet again.

He still found it odd that both groups had just happened to turn up at the same time. It was so unlikely. There had to be something else going on... but he simply couldn't think of what.

It was harder to think generally, what with knowing that his old enemies could pull some stupid _prank_ on the camp at any given time. Oh, they'd sworn they'd leave them alone, but what was the word of a _Gryffindor_ good for?

Except for Lily. Lily wouldn't do anything.

Snape hated himself for thinking so much about her, but he couldn't help it.

_She's one of them now,_ he reminded himself. _And it would do you good to remember that._

The Gryffindors (and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws) were having a rotten time.

The tents had been easy to put up, because some of the campers were muggleborn or half bloods, but someone hadn't counted the number of people coming properly, so they were at least three sleeping spaces short. This, of course, meant that the tents were cramped.

Everyone was tired as well. The journey had been bad enough, what with Sirius Black holding the map upside down and getting them lost, and the driver of the lead car (James Potter) not knowing left from right and getting them more lost, and the muggles having decided to work on what felt like every road in England, leading to blocked roads and, subsequently, them getting even more lost. Then it had rained through all of their first night, causing tiny, insignificant holes in the tent walls to become wetly, soddenly apparent.

And now it had turned out that they didn't have nearly enough food. Again, due to a lack of proper planning. Also, most of the Gryffindors had trusted Sirius to buy their food, and he had unfortunately considered several bags of sweets and crisps, a large supply of Butterbeer and some fizzy muggle drinks he'd liked the look of to be perfectly sufficient.

Lily's yells about rotten teeth, empty calories and not enough nutrients to feed a Flobberworm had echoed around the tents for a good half hour that morning.

She and her friends, obviously, had brought along a huge supply of every kind of tinned food available in muggle London- vegetables and fruit, meat, puddings, curries, soups, stews- the assortment was huge.

It really was very unfortunate that no one had thought to bring along a can opener.

So all in all, what James and Sirius had promised would be 'such fun, guys, really, it'll be amazing' had not lived up to expectations. They were hungry, they were wet, they were cold, they were cramped, and they had toothache. Plus, the Slytherins seemed to have none of their problems, judging from the merry laughter ringing across the lake, which did _not_ help.

It really was, as Lily put it, as sickening as Sirius' sweets (which had formed the main part of everyone's breakfast).

Still, they were lions (and eagles and badgers), they were brave. And so, led by the unsinkable duo of James and Sirius, they proceeded to make the most of it.

The Slytherins took longer than usual to get going that morning, having not gone to bed until very late, or rather, really early. Crabbe had visited 'his' farm a good hour later than before, although he managed to get some honey, which was good. Breakfast was therefore delayed by a bit.

Crabbe, with the help of Cody and Sapphire, had built an oven out of stones on the beach. He was determined to bake bread, something he'd never actually done (or even seen being done) before, but was fairly confident he'd be able to accomplish.

He knew, however, that he'd need flour as well as the milk, water and eggs he already had. He'd have to go over to the village later on to get some.

It was sort of _nice_, having his skills- skills he'd previously been unaware of himself, even- recognized by his classmates. Just because he didn't talk much and found school work difficult, they'd all thought he was stupid. He was bad at Charms because he was rubbish at the wand movements, bad at Astronomy because his eyesight was a bit off, bad at Defence because he couldn't control his mental blocks or whatever Snape called it, bad at- well, everything.

Except eating. And, it seemed, cooking.

Joschka Parkinson and the other instrument-playing Slytherins had, by the sounds of it, been struck by a muse of music this morning, and had commandeered one of the larger boys' tents for 'band practice'.

It was a very odd mix of instruments by all means- the strains of a guitar, some kind of drum, a violin, a saxophone, a trumpet and some unidentifiable others could be heard. But it was not altogether an unpleasant sound, mused Dolohov as he walked into the woods for a bit of sketching. In fact, it was melodious, harmonious- rather like a well-created painting.

A painting of these woods, for instance. The majestic, strong tones of the trumpet would be the gigantic shadows of ancient, distant trees.

He could almost see his brush painting them, the dark, rough bark, the uneven, low-slung branches, the leaves which in the shadows looked to be almost black. The jauntiness of the saxophone would be the skittering animals, their noses twitching as they perched among trees. The smoothness of the violin would be the blue endlessness of the sky and the gentle glitter of the lake.

The surprising thrum of the drum, sliding suddenly and unexpectedly into the melody, would be that girl, whoever she was, lying down there amongst the usually lonely and empty beds of springy moss in the small glade between two gigantic oaks.

Who _was_ she? Dolohov had never seen anyone else this far into the dark woods, especially round the lake, far enough away from the camp to render the strong sounds of the instruments almost silent.

She wasn't one of them, but she did look familiar. She was probably one of the others, then, he'd probably recognised her from his last years at school.

She looked- she looked like she _belonged_ into this scene, this painting of the forest. Her long hair, which was blonde but with interesting brown locks (like the gentle, careful twanging of the acoustic guitar, now too far away to hear but still echoing in his mind) , was spread around the moss. She was wearing a blue dress cut to the thigh, blue like the sky and the barely visible lake.

As he drew nearer, he realised that even the pale, delicate throat, a splash of almost white in the picture, was reflected in the soft white of the daisies, the sharper white of the birds, even the white of her own eyes.

Blue eyes- blue like the dress and the lake and the sky and the bluebells.

He hadn't noticed himself quietly slip behind a tree and take out his sketch book and the little tin of watercolours. He barely registered the opening of his tiny water flask, the dipping of his brush. Only when his paintbrush was poised above the empty page did he realise what he was doing and hesitate.

Was it right to paint her without her knowing? It was a little like photographing, you had to ask permission.

But she _belonged_. This was one scene which had to be painted.

Where to start? With the green of the trees or that wonderful shade of blue? Or the brown trunks, the yellow hair...

Transferring some white to his brush, he began.

Hours later, Dolohov was still painting. The girls had taken a small paperback out and was reading it. He'd painted her in every way he could think, changing the perspective, the size, the shades...

It was an exhilarating feeling to have so many ideas cramming into his head all at once.

He'd only discovered his gift for painting quite recently, and had certainly never felt anything like this.

It was probably because she looked so striking, with the soft lion's mane of hair and such strength in her blue eyes. She was fascinating, and he vaguely wondered, as he took out an pencil now, laying the last wet painting aside, why he'd never noticed until now. Maybe it was his newly awakened feeling for colour and form.

He was getting drowsy now, though, with the heady scent of sap around him and the insects buzzing. The moss against this tree was so soft... so soft...

He barely noticed when his pencil slid from his fingers, and he didn't notice at all when his little flask rolled behind a bush.

He couldn't notice. He was fast asleep.

Rosalie Abbott could imagine just what her friend Lucretia would say if she saw the book she, Rosalie, was reading.

It was well-known in the Ravenclaw common room that Lucretia read only non-fiction, preferably school-related. It was one of her remarkable talents, being able to find interest in the most boring school work.

She could curl up for hours by the fire with 'A Treatise On The Complexity Of Highly Advanced And Exceptionally Difficult Transfiguration Theory', or- well- something like that, anyway.

Rosalie had had to hide her stash of well-worn romances underneath the mattress. Not that Lulu would burn them or anything, but she'd certainly roll her eyes and sigh, and possibly make a few sarcastic comments as well.

So coming into the woods for her daily fix of fictional romance had probably been a good idea, reflected Rosalie. It was so quiet here, apart from the humming of bees and the gentle breeze in the trees.

It was sort of pretty, too, what with the lake shining brightly, just beyond the trees in the distance, and all the flowers. It was a wonder, really, that they got enough light to grow.

Huh! That was the sort of practical thing Lulu would think. She'd probably go and find a practical book about it. Preferably one with several thousand practical pages.

Rosalie stretched, yawning. It was nice and cool here, too, she thought drowsily. After all that awful rain the weather had cleared nicely. It would probably get quite hot, soon.

Absent mindedly she returned to reading about how exactly Perevacious del Vigne was proposing to Amalia Goldheart. It was a beautiful scene, really touching and romantic.

The sort Lulu would despise, thought Rosalie happily.

_''Oh, fair and beauteous maiden.' proclaimed the worthy knight, kneeling before the sweet young girl, 'Oh, divinely graceful flower of my soul, how my starving, lonely heart longs for the touch of your radiant love._

_Every breath I take serves only the purpose of keeping me living a moment longer in your divine presence. _

_The mere thought of your golden hair, bright as a summer's day, of your sweet lips, round as they are like the fruit of the autumn, your fair skin, pale as the deepest, whitest winter, your eyes, bright like the bejewelled flowers of the spring- the merest thought, I say, is enough to keep me from sleeping, from eating, from thinking of anything but your wondrous self. _

_My heart beats for you as the dove's wings beat the air. Your voice, oh treasure most beloved, is to me as the song of a nightingale. Your touch is as sweet as the richest honey. My longing-''_

It was then that Rosalie, glancing up, saw something glint at the bottom of the clearing, just in front of a small, scrubby bush.

At first, she assumed it must be some kind of puddle or something reflecting the sun, but then she realised, looking harder, that it was some sort of metal object.

Funny that she hadn't noticed it before. She'd been here quite a while, too. Really quite a while- a quick look at the sun showed her that she'd been lying in the moss for hours.

Curious, she got up.

It was a small flask of some sort, metal and round and shiny. It appeared to have rolled down, as there was a slight slope, and had been stopped by a tuft of grass.

Then she heard someone breathing the deep, even inhalations of sleep.

Had someone come whilst she was engrossed in her novel? Or even when she had been just lying and resting before? There had certainly been no one there when she first came, she would have noticed at once.

Cautiously, she peeped out from behind the bush.

There _was_ someone there, a young man, only a little older than she was. He was lying against a mossy trunk, his eyes closed, evidently sleeping deeply.

He was surrounded by pictures and painting material. Had he been painting before he fell asleep?

Curiously she looked at one of the sheets of paper lying by he foot.

She was barely able to stifle her gasp. He'd been painting the woods, the scene you could see from here- including her! Yes, it had to be her, lying there, book in hand, wearing that blue cotton dress which was so cool in the heat of midday.

It was a nice painting, too- really good, in fact. Her skin, painted in strong contrast against the green moss, seemed to glow, her eyes shone out- did she really look that pretty? Surely not- but there was no denying that it was a beautiful painting.

She looked at the other pictures spread around her. They were all of her- some nearer, some farther, one just of her face framed by hair that looked- well, it looked _soft _and yet glossy_._

_Well_. She didn't know quite what to think. It was just like one of her stories where Little Miss whatever, the maid of an illustrious witch, would find that her secret admirer Great Sir so-and-so, Grand Warlock, had been painting her as she reclined in the romantic bower wreathed in flowers and scented like a springtime dream or whatever.

Was he- she hardly dared think it- a secret _admirer_? No, surely not- but why else would he paint her? If this _were_ a romance novel- but then, that sort of thing never seemed to happen in real life.

She looked him carefully over. He wasn't exactly beautiful, he didn't have "chiselled features, high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose and a majestic aura", like Perevacious. In fact, he looked rather plain, all pockmarked, with yellowy skin.

But he must be _romantic_, else he wouldn't be painting her, would he?

And he seemed familiar... was he at Hogwarts, too?

As she mused, his eyes, quite suddenly, sprang open. She started.

'Oh- oh, I do apologise, did I- did I wake you?' she stammered.

He looked blearily from her to the pictures and then flushed slowly dark red.

'I- oh, about those- I- sorry-'

'The pictures? Oh- oh, I don't mind a bit, really I don't-'

'You don't mind?'

He seemed to have woken up fully now.

'Oh, not in the least. You- if you want- I mean-'

'May I paint you again? The light has changed, it would look quite different now.'

'Of _course_.' she said, thrilled.

'And- may I ask you your name? You seemed familiar.'

'Rosalie- Rosalie Abbott.'

'Ah- then I will have known you at school.'

'I'm in Ravenclaw. You've left?'

'Yes, two years ago. Thank you for letting me- you know-'

'Not at all.' she said graciously.

Just like Amalia Goldheart would.

Forget the discoveries of the hard-working Unspeakables (see above) at your peril.


	5. Chapter 4- Mr Meddlams' and Drowning

Thanking excessivelyperky for reviewing, rain ravinlin, gingerdream, excessivelyperky, TheSatanicNightmare and Asou for following and rain ravinlin, Luzydeath and Asou for favouriting.

I'm now back from a trip to Rome with my Latin class, so Chapter's Up! and I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter 4**

Where was that prat Dolohov?

Regulus shaded his eyes against the blinding sun, looking out for the tall figure, probably walking dreamily along the beach, gazing soulfully at the shimmering waters, as splendid as the stars in the sky and whatnot. He did spout _drivel_ sometimes, and especially so since the day before last, when he'd disappeared shortly after breakfast and not come back 'till teatime.

But the chap was nowhere to be seen. Probably gone running off into the forest again, completely forgetting that he'd promised Regulus to walk into the village with him.

Because Snape had some kind of weird _problem_ with Regulus walking so far off by himself. He seemed to think that he, Regulus, would blow the place up or something. When Regulus had suggested taking, say, Cody and Daielo along with him, Snape had actually _shuddered_ and muttered something about 'each worse than the next'.

But Snape wasn't his mother, was he?

The resulting mental image had Regulus sniggering for a bit, until he remembered what he had been thinking about before and told himself sternly to get a grip.

So. Getting to the village. Right.

Oh, it was no problem. He'd go himself. He could probably work out which way to go all right. Or- wait- there was old Mulciber, walking towards him.

'Oy- Mulciber- want to come down to the village with me?' he yelled. Mulciber waited until he had almost reached Regulus until answering.

'Yes, I was heading that way myself when Snape asked me to accompany you. Seems to think you're up to something.'

Regulus pulled his 'highly affronted' face (he'd more or less learned it of his constantly affronted mother.)

'What do you want to buy, anyway?' asked Mulciber curiously.

'Sweets. Chocolates. Couple of quills.'

'You know perfectly well that you can't get proper quills in a Muggle shop.'

In truth, Regulus had completely forgotten that, but he nodded anyway.

'True. I'll have to get one of those pun things, then. A pointball pun. Or- or- they have river puns, too. No- stream puns? Spring puns?'

'Fountain puns.' said Mulciber wisely.

'Yeah, that was it. I'll get one of those.'

They walked along the twisting road, Regulus whistling tunelessly.

Then he asked: 'What're you getting, then?'

'Some books about growing things. You know- plants. The eating sort. Vegetables, that sort of thing. Only Crabbe wants to know which of the plants in the woods are edible, and I like Herbology anyway, so I said I'd look it up for him.'

'Muggle plants are more boring'n wizarding plants.'

'Yes, but you can eat lots of them. Eat most wizarding plants and you end up turning into something nasty, like- like a cockroach or a frog.'

'Or a corpse.' said Regulus cheerfully.

'I've never heard of a muggle plant that'll turn you into a cockroach, which is my point.'

'There's a few which would turn you into a corpse, though.'

'Yes, well, that's why I'm getting the books. There's a small bookshop, I think Snape's been in there.'

'It would be surprising if there was a single bookshop in the world which Snape hasn't visited.'

They had reached the wooden signpost which told them that they were halfway there. One end pointed towards the campsite. It said, imaginatively: 'To Campsite. 1 ½ Miles.' The other end pointed to the village. Obviously the painter of the sign hadn't bothered to find out what the village was called, because it said, simply: 'To Village. 1 ½ Miles.'

'Does the village even have a name?' wondered Regulus aloud.

'Yes. It's called Dawnby. And it's not like it's that small, even. It has at least seven shops- the main store, the newsagents, the grocers, the bookshop with the souvenirs, the music shop, the secondhand shop and a clothes shop. Plus it has a little café and a market on Saturdays and Tuesdays.'

'How d'you know all that?'

'Snape told me. And he showed me this tiny bit of folded up shiny parchment- sorry, paper- with pictures and things on. Said it was a 'leaflet' he'd been given by the camp manager's daughter.'

When they reached picturesque Dawnby, they split up, Regulus heading straight for the display of brightly coloured sweets in the grocer's window, Mulciber wandering over to the bookshop, tucked away in the corner of the tiny market square.

It was called 'Mr Meddlams' Books, Dawnby', according to the creaking sign above the window.

Pushing open a red door with 'Please do come in' painted in wobbly copperplate, Mulciber came in.

A bell dinged above his head, the rattling tinkle echoing around the shop.

It was larger than it appeared from the outside, with shelves resembling those in Ollivander's wand shop around the walls and waist-high shelves making a maze around the red-carpeted floor. Here and there, much taller shelves, more like the ones around the walls, stood free in spaces amongst the little ones. In one corner, a group of mismatched chairs, bean bags and stools were grouped around several glass-topped tables.

And the books. So many books. Not only were the shelves filled with them, they were in piles on the floor, stacked up around the chairs and on the tables, a few even seeming to float on glass brackets attached to shelves and, where there were a few spare inches, walls.

Mulciber weaved his way carefully through the shelves until he reached a large doorway, through which was another room similarly filled with shelves and chairs and books and tables.

In this one, however, there was a counter in one corner, a huge, ancient till sitting in pride of place in the middle. Behind the till, and somewhat dwarfed by its size, sat an elderly-looking lady, an eyeglass in place as she peered intently at the pages of an ancient book.

As she glanced up at Mulciber, he noticed what odd eyes she had- they were of the most vivid, lively _brown_ he'd ever seen. They reminded him rather of an eagle's eyes, or a tiger- bright, intelligent and piercing.

'Good afternoon, my lad.' she said, and her voice was surprisingly strong for one so old.

'Are you looking for anything in particular?'

'Um- yes.' stammered Mulciber, realizing suddenly that she was a Muggle, and he'd never talked to one before.

'I'm- I'm looking for a book on plants which you can eat, and how you can cook them.'

She gazed at him for a long moment, then suddenly smiled.

'Of course, of course, dear, in the front room, the blue shelf called Wilkinson the Third.'

At his confused look, she smiled.

'Oh, I give all my shelves names, my dear. Helps me remember where everything is. You'll find young Wilkinson the Third next to Annie Green, the tall walnut shelf nearest the window at the front. And if Wilkinson can't help you, Charlie might- he's near the opposite wall holding all my cookery books.'

Thanking the old dame, Mulciber picked his way back through the maze until he reached a blue shelf fairly near the window. And yes, a silvery plaque on the wood proclaimed it to be 'Wilkinson the Third, Botany V'.

What an odd woman, he thought. She reminded him of their strange Divination professor, a frankly mad old thing who insisted on being called Madame Seer and wore robes with mirrors and thing stuck on. Except that she really was insane, whilst this one had a similar intelligent atmosphere as, say, Professor Dumbledore.

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Dolohov was spending a pleasant afternoon with Miss Abbott.

The two were getting along very well, what with her posing for him to draw her. He'd gifted her with one or two of his nicer pictures, whilst she had promised to lend him a few wizarding romances.

They talked a bit, too- about how nice the woods looked, how nice the birds sounded, how nicely her dress went with her hair, that sort of thing. They seemed to have a lot in common by the way of finding the same things nice.

Rosalie was thrilled by the attentions of this _nice_ young man with the clever paintbrush. He seemed to enjoy her company as much as she was enjoying his.

Lulu kept trying to guess where Rosalie was going, which had given her a wonderful chance to try that thing from _Her heart enchanted by the sorcerer_, in which Lavinia the Fair, when asked by the cook where she was going,

'_lowered her eyes to the carpet of soft green grass, her long, soft eyelashes brushing the peach of her cheeks. _

'_I cannot tell you, most honoured of cooks.' she said demurely. 'But I may, at least, put your anxious, kind heart at rest, for I shall not come to harm.'_

_And the dainty maiden fled across the dew-brushed lawns of the Quidditch pitch, past the mysterious crystalline shine of the Greenhouse, into the welcoming trees of the forest where her sorcerer's arms awaited her._'

Unfortunately, when Rosalie recited the speech (cleverly substituting 'friend' for 'cook'), Lulu had just given her that impatient look and asked what in Hyperactivated Transfigurations' name she was on about.

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Evan Rosier and Cecilia Turpin were fishing down by the lake.

Really, Rosier had wanted to go by himself, but as Turpin was the only owner of a bent safety pin, he'd had to let her come along as well.

He didn't have any proper fishing things- he and his older brother Lucan had usually used magic to fish. It was more fun that way-weaving a net of magical sparks, made by tapping the air with a wand; using your fingers to close up any holes through which a fish could escape by pressing the threads together, dipping the net into the water with a satisfactory hissing noise, then pulling it up again, dripping with multicoloured drops and always stretched to full capacity by glistening, silver fish.

Now all they had was two long lengths of twine with a bent pin on the end, and a maggot on the end of that. And judging by Turpin's frequent yawns, she was getting incredibly bored.

Mind you, Turpin was constantly bored if she didn't have a needle and thread. She could sit for hours stitching away at something, even if it was just the same pattern fifty times over.

Weird.

It took only a few minutes longer for Turpin to go, leaving Rosier alone.

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Inside 'Mr Meddlams' Books, Dawnby', Mulciber was diligently taking notes from about five hundred books on edible plants.

It was fascinating, how very many there were, even in this region. Why, if they ate only a tenth of the different types, they could live off plants alone for months.

The tinkling of the bell got his attention, and he looked up.

It was that Gryffindor girl. Macdonald, Mary Macdonald. The one he'd got into a spot of… trouble over a few years back. They'd very nearly expelled him.

She hadn't seen him yet, but, judging by the way she was picking her way expertly through the maze, she'd been here before.

She disappeared through the doorway, and he heard her soft voice and the old lady's strong one. He couldn't make out any words, but he heard her laugh. He knew that laugh so well- merry and yet as gentle as her voice.

Mind you, gentle just about summed up Mary Macdonald. Gentle and a little timid, but cheerful and happy when with her friends.

The voices had stopped, and he saw her appear again, walking along the wall opposite to him.

She was a plump girl, with long, soft waves of brown hair tumbling down her back, and warm brown eyes. She was usually with a group of close friends her age- in the year below him. In fact, since he'd had that- accident- he'd never seen her alone at all.

He would never admit it, not to anyone, but it pained him to know that he'd made her more scared, more timid than before.

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Snape scowled as he looked through his rucksack.

Damn the thing, where _was_ it? He needed his wallet- it contained not only a lot of his money, but also his driving license, his library cards and potions store tokens, even the details of the upcoming NEWT examinations, and the picture.

He must have dropped the wallet somewhere- in the tent, or in the car, maybe even along the way towards the village.

His scowl deepening, he began going thoroughly and methodically through the whole tent, cursing his own stupidity under his breath.

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Rosier felt his eyelids grow heavy as drowsiness swept over him. The chirping insects near the water's edge were having a soporific effect on him, coupled with the gentle splash of water and the soft breeze.

It was wonderful, feeling so relaxed for once. His best friend, Samuel Wilkes, was always teasing him for his wariness, his being constantly on the alert. Normally, wide open spaces like this made him tense and careful, but right now, knowing that they were far away from magical civilization was calming.

It also felt freeing to be away from his mother, after his father had died five years ago in a duel with a Transylvanian warlock, she had become overbearing in the extreme.

He let himself daydream, for once in his life.

He could hear the water still, lapping gently against his shoes. Water… funny stuff, really. It was so wet, and it changed colour all the time, blue when the midday sun beat down on it, red when the last rays of the evening slipped across it, steel gray during stormy weather, and, sometimes, utterly transparent, so that every last fish could be seen, darting like tiny silver arrows. Odd to think that below the surface of the sea was a world much like this one, with mountains and valleys and forests of tough kelp, with the air as distant above as the stars were from here… And it was soft, water, when you drank it and it slipped down your throat, and when you splashed it across your face in the morning. And yet, when he'd jumped off that rock yesterday, after Wilkes'd dared him to, he'd smacked into the surface like a bird falling onto rock. It was the basis of life, really, because-

Vaguely, in his dreamy state of mind, he became aware of louder splashes, farther out across the water. And- a voice. A scream? What _was_ that?

His eyes opened, and he looked about him, annoyed at having to leave the beautiful calm of daydreaming.

Was that a person, right out in the middle of the lake? Oh, this was stupid, so obvious. He was thinking about water, heard a scream and opened his eyes to see someone – what, drowning or something?

If this was a story, he'd rip of shoes and coat and leap into the water to rescue the poor soul in danger.

Sighing, he ripped of his shoes and his coat and leaped into the water to rescue the poor soul in danger.

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Mulciber watched intently as the girl perused some hardbacks which she had taken from 'Charles Debonair, Cookery I – IV'. She had a small stack, which she'd put on one of the small coffee tables whilst she flipped through a small grey volume.

He could remember so well what had happened on that afternoon two years ago.

He hadn't meant to, he really hadn't. In fact, hurting her had been the last thing on his mind, what with that slight crush- which didn't exist-

Oh, he'd let himself realize it now. He knew it was true. He'd liked her – like liked, as Reggie would say (usually giggling) since fourth year. Since that day when a random Hufflepuff first year had fallen on the hard stone of the Entrance Hall floor, scraping his knee.

She'd picked him up and dusted him down and given him the shy, motherly smile which had made the long neglected heart of the Slytherin watching skip a beat. _If only someone would smile at me like that_, had been the thought- barely worded- resounding through him.

So on that fateful day when he'd seen her across the hall, felt that flicker in his heart and, without realising it, _smiled_ at her- well, obviously his way of smiling left something to be desired, because she'd looked at him with that look of hatred and disgust, of loathing, an expression which was almost the polar opposite of the gentle smile he'd dreamt of- and something had broken inside him, deep down, and he'd just _hexed_ and jinxed with all the words he could think of, wanting to cut the hateful expression off…

And only after, when he'd come back to himself to find Hagrid holding him and Professor Sprout taking the shaking, terrified girl, humiliated by the weird shapes he'd made appear in her face and pained by the gashes he'd inflicted on her, to the hospital wing, had he felt the remorse.

But the other boys had congratulated him on 'showing that half-blood something she'll remember', and he'd smirked and nodded and choked down the memories of her soft, gentle brown eyes filled with terror of him.

And now there she was, only about ten metres away, just a few strides, and he could still feel that flicker of both remorse and- well, whatever he called this stupid crush which had still not let him go.

He'd tried to apologise to her, but her friends had always made a protective circle around her, not letting him anywhere near her-

In fact, this was probably the closest he'd been to her in ages.

She had moved towards him, aiming for a purple shelf called 'Millicent Josephine Barker- Spices of the World'.

Her dress was a simple flowery thing, slightly faded with the colours a little washed out. It was tied round her waist with a bright blue ribbon, matching the one in her hair.

Any moment now she was going to look up and see him- and then what? In his perfect world, the tiny universe inside his head, she'd see the charm and wit and whatever he had, fall in love with him- or, failing that, at least she'd forgive him.

But no, it was much more likely that she'd see him, go pale and hurriedly leave the shop, towards the safety of her friends, wherever they were.

At that exact moment, Mary leaned forward to examine the spine of some book, and the stack in her arms teetered, toppled, and tumbled to the floor towards him.

Reflexively, he knelt down and picked them up, all six of them, one after the other.

She looked down at him, recognized him, and stiffened. She seemed simultaneously surprised and nervous. Very surprised.

Then he realized that he was behaving kind of out of character, kneeling on the floor before her, probably looking ridiculous with his arms full of books. It _was_ out of character for him, but then, they were _her_ books.

Realising, too, that he really ought to say something, he cleared his throat, muttered 'Ah- here.', thrust the books at her, stood up.

She seemed to come back to life, moved, turned away.

'Wait- Macdonald- stop!' said a voice which Mulciber vaguely recognized as his own.

She stopped and looked at him, hugging her books against herself. He was quite short, though not so much as she, so she barely had to look up.

'I- I'm sorry. For- you know-'

She appraised him coolly, evidently trying to hide her surprise.

'I- I was so angry- I'm sorry-'

'Angry?' It was the first time she'd spoken, and her voice was as soft and gentle as before, though with the nervous hint of her posture reflected in her tone.

'What can I have done to make you so angry that you humiliated me by making me look like some kind of alien freak and cut into my skin with a burning curse? Both the changing hex and the curse were illegal, and I don't even know what else you did. I'm surprised they didn't expel you.'

'Macdonald-'

'No.' she said, and her voice was stronger than he'd ever heard. 'I've seen you, these last years, trying to get up close to me, probably wanting to do it again. You say you were angry. What did I do? You couldn't tell Professor Dumbledore what'd made you so _angry_. And I'd not done anything to you.'

'You hated me. You _loathed_ me.'

'And can you blame me for that? Besides, what has my hating you got to do with you getting angry? No, don't go-' as she turned to escape- 'I want to get this sorted out. Why did you do it?'

'I told you, you hated me.' he said in a low voice, avoiding her eyes. 'And I- didn't want you to. I didn't hate you, Macdonald, I never did. Hell, I- I _liked_ you. You always seemed a damn sight nicer than any of the girls in my house.'

Great. Now he was swearing. That wasn't going to help.

'You wanted a girl to like you so you nearly killed her with illegal curses.' said Mary flatly.

'No- look, forget it, I shouldn't've started this.'

'I've already told you, I want to sort it out. I think I have a right to know why a guy who professes to _like_ me got angry enough to hurt me so badly.'

Mulciber took a deep breath and rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye.

'Because nobody likes me, Mary, and nobody ever will. And you look at everyone with a smile except for me, when I wanted so badly for you to – well, not glare at me with that disgust and hatred. I'm sorry for what I did, I'd do anything to take it back.'

'You- you just called me Mary.' she said.

'Sorry for that, then, too.'

'Why did you never apologise before?'

'Because your friends were always around.' said Mulciber defeatedly, closing his eyes. It had been stupid of him to start this, he ought to just make a runner for it whilst he still could, so that he could nurse his broken heart in peace.

He felt a jolt of surprise when her hand rested against his elbow.

'Look, next time, if you like me, you just say instead of nearly killing me, okay?'

His eyes sprang open.

'You're forgiving me?' he croaked.

She _smiled_ at him, that quiet, gentle smile which made his heart quiver.

'Not quite. But if you make an effort, I might. And- I don't mind you calling me Mary.'

Her voice seemed to be coming from far away, and a strange feeling of happy unreality had wrapped itself around Mulciber. This was impossible- she was looking at him with- well, it wasn't yet quite trust, but it would be.

Happiness was making tiny suns explode inside his head, he felt dizzy, wanted to shout with exhilaration because the weight of the pain he had inflicted was lifted, or at least nearly.

He realized that a rather soppy smile had crept onto his face, he let it be.

'So.' he said. 'What books are you looking at? And I don't mind you calling me- don't laugh- Johannes.'

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She was going to drown. She was only seventeen, and she was going to drown.

Suddenly, the calm blue water seemed dark, forbidding, terrifying. A few more minutes and she'd go under the surface. She couldn't control her legs with the awful cramp she'd just got, and there was no way anyone would see her this far out.

Terror washed over her in icy waves as she realized that she couldn't scream, her throat felt constricted. She couldn't breathe properly, she was hyperventilating, gasping, shaking.

Please, please, let me drown quickly, let it be over soon…

And her eyes shut tight as she felt the water close over her head.

Then there were arms around her, pushing her up; legs propelling her through the water with strong, steady kicks. She wondered, briefly, if she'd died, or if she was unconscious; she was sure there'd been no one near her a moment ago.

She tried to open her eyes, to see who her saviour was, but remaining terror was keeping them shut.

All feeling for time had gone. It was either a few seconds or a few hours before the arms lifted her up, out of the water, onto the warm sand of the beach. Alive.

Her eyes opened.

Next to her, panting, was a boy, about her age.

Recognition fell as memories slid into place. It was Rosier, the curly-headed Slytherin from her Transfiguration class.

Marlene tried, and failed, to sit up. The pain from the cramp made her gasp as she flopped back down. But she was alive, she hadn't drowned.

The realisation that she had almost died had her shaking again.

He laid his hand on her arm.

'What happened there?'

'Cramp.' she said briefly.

He picked up his coat and wrapped her up in it. She realized vaguely that she was shaking from cold, as well, and was grateful for the warm arm around her.

The pain in her leg eased and she was able to move it properly.

'Not meant to be a Slytherin thing, is it, rescuing people all the time. I thought only Gryffindors did that sort of thing.' she said, stupidly.

'A simple 'thanks' would have sufficed.' he said dryly. 'And so far, I've only rescued you once. I don't intend to be doing it 'all the time'.'

'I don't intend to nearly die again.' she said. 'And- um, thanks.'

He laughed, then, and the dark curls flopped into his face. She remembered that he had a habit of pushing them impatiently back. _How do I know that?_


	6. Chapter 5- Changings and Thefts

Many thanks to all reviewers, favouriters and followers. (in that order )

Things are heating up a bit now- and there's a thief to catch.

Chapter 5 of Relaxing Holidays: Changings and Thefts

For the first few days of camp, the Slytherins had kept together, nearly all the time, in their campsite and around it. It had been fun, but at the same time weird, slightly scary, with strange culture all around and then surprise visits from Gryffindors.  
Now people seemed to have found things to busy themselves with, reflected Snape, sitting on the upturned log next to the campfire and regarding the scene with interest. Before, the snakes had largely been afraid of going up to the village by themselves. Having always viewed the world of Muggles as something both foreign and below the wizarding world, they'd been wary of it. Now they seemed to have acclimatized somewhat. The campsite was mostly empty, except for the nights, and maybe the mealtimes, where the campfire still saw throngs of teenagers.  
Where did they go? Dolohov, who disappeared into the trees in the mornings and came back with a half-grin and a sense of importance, of having a wonderful secret. Mulciber, who, when Snape had briefly looked into his tent this morning, had blushed furiously and shoved something small and fluffy-looking under his pillow. Even Rosier, normally not too far away from Wilkes, left in the mornings and came back covered with scratches and smears and with tears in his clothes. What had he been _doing_? Playing Red Indians in amongst the bushes, like the small Muggle children of the village? Surely not.  
Even Crabbe- stolid, heavy Crabbe, with the gift for enticing mouthwatering aromas from dry old food, had an air of secrecy around him. He'd started getting people to brings things back from the villages, little packages of this and that, done up in brown paper and immediately hidden in the depths of his pot.  
Speaking of which- it seemed about lunchtime, judging by the sun and the scent, and by the way people were trickling back into camp. There- Rosier- grinning about something, talking with Wilkes. Dolohov- still thought himself better than the rest, with only a few years age difference.  
Crabbe caught Snape's eye and waved him over, handing him a large, chipped plate filled with pieces of vegetable and meat and delicious juices.  
Daielo was babbling on excitedly about his mornings' work, spying on lions, badgers and eagles with Cody.  
'They're all angry with ol' Black, couldn't make out why, and their camp's a right mess. They've put half the tents up wrong, and it's been half a week and they've still not fixed them, and they think we've gone over and nicked their tent pegs and tangled up ropes and stuff. And someone's been nicking other stuff, too, like food and things. Of course they think it's us.'  
'Was it?' drawled Dolohov, meaningful eye on Daielo.  
''Course not!', indignantly. And- 'It's kind of funny, really, because we've lost stuff. Haven't we, Cody? You said that you couldn't find the pocket knife you got last week in the village.'  
Regulus had by now come bounding up, received his portion and good-naturedly shoved Daielo over to make more space.  
'I can't find my money.' he complained. 'And it was such a faff getting it changed into Muggle stuff. I had it under my pillow and it's gone. And Severus, he says his wallet has gone. Hasn't it?'  
Snape nodded distractedly, his mind on the missing items. Had the Gryffs- but no, surely not, they'd lost some things themselves. To cover up guilt? They couldn't have the brains to get around the camp without being caught red-handed. There was always someone around, after all. An outsider, then? But who, in this remote area?  
'Regulus- Dai- Cody.' he said quietly. 'Any good at finding footprints?'  
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Of course, Reggie, Dai and Cody threw themselves whole-heartedly into the 'mystery'. Everyone had to have their shoes examined whilst Reggie made terrible sketches of the soles. Cody got out the magnifying glass and started trying to work out what bent grasses showed. Dai went around noting missing items and 'interviewing possible witnesses' by way of constantly badgering everyone about their whereabouts for the past four days (something which, Snape noted with interest, there was a general reluctance to talk about).  
Reggie became convinced that there was a large-scale thief prowling the countryside, and informed Crabbe that 'you'll probably be murdered in your bed, yes, looks that way. OK, sleeping bag, then. Look, Crabby, I'm serious about this!', at which point Crabbe got rather upset and needed calming down, which Snape achieved mainly by way of four lovely fresh eggs from the farm.  
They were interested, too, in Dai's account of missing objects in the 'other camp'. The excitable sleuths spent a while hunting for clues around there and eavesdropping for hints.  
'Do you reckon there's anything in this?' asked Sapphire, whilst they were gone.  
Snape, his Arithmancy book propped up against the side of his tent, shrugged.  
'I've really no idea.' he said. 'But you can't deny that something is going on, and I for one do wish to know what. Besides, I really would be grateful for the return of my wallet. It's certainly not in the camp, I can say that for sure.'  
He took up a twig and began tracing abstract runes in the dust.  
'And this camp has been going comparatively well, all things considered. It would be somewhat a shame to have to give up now. Besides, Slytherins don't let strangers take possession of their belongings and then flee. It wouldn't do.'  
Sapphire hid her surprise at what was probably the longest speech on anything other than Potions or Defence (or Yelling At Reggie) that she had heard from Snape for a long time. She watched him with avid interest, scratching absent-mindedly at the dust. She recognized some of the runes, too- the one for peace, the one for justice, the one to keep things quiet, the one which acted as an emotional stabilizer. He didn't seem to notice the squiggles and lines and geometric patterns he was creating, any more than he appeared to be aware of her continued existence beside him. He was_ worried_, she realized suddenly, and, with Snape, that took quite a lot.  
Funny chap, really. Quiet, usually; kept himself to himself, except when he wasn't, had a way of quietly changing things without seeming to. She didn't know all that much about him, really, except that he was a half-blood, was on the personal blacklist of the Gryffindors and was very clever. He didn't look like much, of course, not with that nose and the unfortunate appearance of greasiness, but he was a Slytherin through and through. A real Slytherin, not all swank and smoke-and-mirrors like her own aristocratic bloodline.  
The return of the amateur detectives was heralded by a crashing amongst the undergrowth, coupled with Reggie's pain-in-the-neck whistling.  
He hullo'ed loudly when he saw her.  
'We found out lots! Really lots! And Dai's got notes and Cody's gone to ask the man in the pub if there's been anything un-to-ward going on, so she'll be ages, of course.'  
Sapphire made all the right noises of excited interest, and Daielo showed her his grubby notebook with Reggie's smudged sketches and his own spider-scrawl writing.  
_Mostl. money missing; also jewels & torches & a teddy bear & some maps. Gryff. missing sim. things & also a toy dog. Why stealing toys? Could b. a kid?  
_'Whose teddy bear?' asked Sapphire interestedly.  
'Crabbe's- but don't tell him I told you!'  
Yes, that made sense, somehow. Hulking Crabbe, who had hidden a talent for cooking, being a big softie at heart.  
'And we spoke to one of them, too. Asked her some questions.'  
'Which house?' asked Snape, narrow-eyed.  
'Dunno, wasn't wearing uniform, didn't ask. She was nice enough, really cool, actually. She wants to help with our investigations. Her name was Sophie something.'  
'And have you got any closer to the identity of our alleged thief?'  
'Sophie's drawing up a list of sus- suspects.' said Regulus. 'She says you need to do that. She says she read it in a book where people did some detectoring. And I read a book, too, _The Mystery of the Black Phoenix_, so I know that we need to find the cigar end which the thief dropped. It's a special blend, you see-' he continued confidently, '-made just for the thief, so when we go to the shop printed on the cigar end, they'll tell us who-'  
Snape interrupted him. 'And of course the kleptomaniac will have left a silk handkerchief with his name embroidered in purple lettering and his family crest behind when he visited.' he said, voice dripping with heavy sarcasm.  
'Yeah! That happened next. How did you kno-'  
'_Anyway_.' Sapphire cut in hurriedly, before the scowl on Snape's face got worse, 'This Sophie might be able to find the guy we're looking for, so that's a good thing.'  
'I bet-' said Snape, gloomily, 'that she's just a Gryffindor trying to get information from our blundering classmates. Wouldn't be too hard, either.' he added, melodramatic sigh following on.  
'Nah, she's cool.' said Daielo lightly, ignoring both the 'blundering' bit and the end bit.  
'Well, I should hope so.' said Sapphire sternly. 'Remember we're meant to have nothing at all to do with Them, OK?'  
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The _Drowned Pig_ was full as ever, being the only pub for miles around and today being market day. Farmers, having sold their vegetables and cows and eggs, were taking a break before the journey home. Besides, it had been a good sale all round, so mood was high and beer flowed freely.  
Near the front of the bar stood an earnest girl, trying so conspicuously to look inconspicuous that it was a good thing most of the open-sleeved men were _just_ too intoxicated to notice anyway.  
She was listening intently to the conversation.  
'S'a funny thing.' she heard one man say, and turned towards him.  
'S'very funny. T'wife reckons that t'woman from down by the ol' campsite is bein' odd. Told 'er to mind 'er own business and t'like. Strange, it is, what with 'er bein' a jolly sort an' all. Right changed, she 'as.'  
Fancy that! thought Cody, turning to go. Not herself, huh? Maybe- just maybe- that had something to do with the thefts…  
As she hurried through the small square, trying to avoid the tractors loading stalls and produce back up and farmer's wives collecting together left-over apples and jam jars and rolls of cloth, she didn't see Mulciber and Macdonald hurry round the corner. Nor did she see Dolohov, at the doorway of the tiny village museum of arts, speaking earnestly to a pretty girl with long hair.  
Pagebreak  
Rosier and McKinnon were by the lake again. After the dramatic rescue they had talked a little, just about this and that, and discovered that, while of course they couldn't be friends- for House problems and so on- they might as well be civil for the duration of the camp. Neither of them tended to talk much, and they both liked doing active things, like swimming and walking and running.  
And just because they happened to be spending time in each other's company, Rosier told himself firmly, didn't mean he was befriending a Gryffindor, Merlin forbid it. No, they were just swimming in friendly silence, sometimes talking a little. Besides, she might get cramp again, ,and then she'd drown, maybe, if he wasn't there. And that would be murder. Also, there wasn't much else to hold his attention whilst Wilkes was off Salazar-knew-where doing Merlin-knew-what.  
So he was best off here, next to her, matching the steady pulls of her arms and the strong kicks of her legs stroke for stroke, just swimming along, briskly but not so fast as to have to really try, feeling the occasional fish brush their skins and floating weed tickles their ribs.  
She was a good swimmer, he'd grant her that; better than any girl he'd ever seen mucking around in the lake. She'd shoved her hair up in some kind of knot, and the smattering of freckles across the back of her suntanned neck made for something pleasant to look at whenever he glanced over. Yes, she was a fairly pretty girl, really. Well, decent enough, anyway. Not that it mattered, whilst swimming.  
She was pulling ahead of him, he tugged harder at the lake water to get back alongside her.  
'Too fast for you?' she teased, and he scowled pleasantly, speeding up just to prove he could. She sped up, too, and then they were racing, swapping the lazy breaststroke for a faster crawl, panting towards the distant shore. She was fast, but so was he, and many a minnow found itself overtaken by the human teenagers fighting to stay ahead of each other all the long way.  
He was stronger, in the end, but only just, so that he'd barely had time to pull himself out of the water before she reached him, panting and gasping and grinning broadly.  
They ran after they'd caught their breath, to dry off, barefoot through the sand, through the trees which headed the lake, over the meadow behind it, dry grass brushing their legs. If he was the better swimmer, she was the better runner, so it was he who, after many, many minutes, gasped for a break, laughing.  
So they stopped by another meadow, lying down in the cool of the fragrant grasses. They watched the world go by, the tiny, busy world of insects, fighting each other and eating and scrabbling around on bits of stick.  
'If we could jump as high as a flea, in proportion to our bodies-' Rosier offered, '-we could jump to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Did you know that?'  
'No, I didn't.' she said, smiling as she stroked the bright blood armour of a passing ladybird. 'It's kind of funny, though, thinking about it. You'd have to have really strange legs, like springs, I suppose.'  
He laughed again, a deep belly laugh of the sort he never seemed to these days.  
'Imagine you could jump that high.' he said. 'Imagine you could jump right up to Ravenclaw Tower or the library from the oak tree by the Lake.'  
'That would be fun.' she said dreamily. 'You'd never be late for Transfiguration again. You could just jump up onto the windowsill and tap on the glass, like the delivery owls, and say, oh, sorry, Professor, I was nearly late so I had to hop it.'  
'And you could win every fight.' he said, 'because you'd just leap over your adversaries head.'  
'And you wouldn't have to scrabble up the annoying bits of trees with no real branches when you wanted to climb them. You could just jump up onto a strong bough. It'd be like a tiny skip, for you, if you could jump Eiffel-Tower-high.'  
'I wonder how far forward you could jump?' he said, and they fell silent.  
Soon, the sun warned them of impending evening by beginning to drop lower and make the shadows longer. They ran back in silence, jogging softly through grass and trees until they reached the still waters of the lake, where they parted, each to his own camp.  
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Snape was berating himself again. He'd caught himself staring over the lake, wondering what he was looking for. It wasn't until he realized that what he was seeking was a flash of red hair, of long legs and summery frocks and bright smiles that he turned away, annoyed.  
Over. Gone. Not to be thought about. Dead. Past. Forgotten.  
The mantra, which he had been constantly repeating to himself for more than two years, now, had failed again, melted away in a moment of hopeless longing and regret.  
She was there, _there_, just on the other side of the lake, with her bright smiles and cheerful laughs and sheer exuberance, balanced out by intelligence and deep-thinking passion. She was less than a mile away, much less, probably on a quarter of an hour's brisk walk away, almost visible on good days like this. _She_ was haunting his thoughts again, his dreams, when he'd thought he'd managed to beat the emotion out of his soul.  
Maybe he was a damn fool for even trying. But what could he do? It was either forget her or pine for the rest of his life. He would have forgotten her, too, he went on bitterly, if she hadn't kept on turning up all over the place. They were coming up to the last year of school, how in Merlin's name was he meant to pass his NEWTS with her distracting presence around the castle. OWLS had been bad enough, of course, but the finals…  
It was unsurprising that he jumped when he saw her, _her_, coming round the end of the lake, giggling girlfriends in tow (in his mind, he always called them Quiet One, Pink One, Dreamy One, Brave One, Sensible One and Tomboy One- plus, of course, She). No- make that _usually_ giggling girlfriends, right now they looked solemn. And there were only four.  
He couldn't quite make out their expressions enough to know more, but they certainly weren't laughing. He couldn't hear what they were saying, though.  
And it was simply to hear information that he began to creep nearer. Just to spy on Her- no, _them_- to find out things to be used against them in the true Slytherin style. To find out about the thefts, say, or about any nasty tricks they had planned.  
Not to be close to Her- no, not at all, he told himself firmly. Very firmly, with an inward sarcastic smirk for good measure.  
How to get close enough to see He- dammit!- to hear the top secret information? Ah, good; there was a large rock, big enough to hide behind; and a line of trees leading to it. Thank Salazar he could move so quietly. And that there were so few dry leaves.  
Crouching, finally, behind the rock, he concentrated hard to make out their words.  
'-none left by tomorrow.' the Sensible One was saying. 'I mean, living on rubbish for five days has been crap enough, but they didn't even get enough rubbish.'  
'I vote we send someone off to spy on the Snakes and nick some food.' said Tomboy One. Snape could almost see the grin on her face.  
To his- _annoyance_- (especially of his heart, which was so annoyed it started beating really fast), it was Her voice which came next.  
'Isn't there a village nearby?'  
'Yeah, granted- but we have no Muggle money.'  
Silence. Then-  
'I have a bit. Enough for one meal for everyone, say.'  
'Oh, for Rowena's sake, let's just go nick the Snakies' food.'  
'Oh, sure, with them on alert to catch this thief?'  
Snape, from his uncomfortable position behind the rock, lifted his head, listening hard.  
'Yeah, that's the other problem. What little money we did have has been stolen. And I bet the Snakes-'  
'Nah. You really think so?'  
'Just because you find old Wilkes handsome doesn't mean-'  
'Oh, shut up. I mean, stop talking rubbish.' Unconvincing. And interesting, thought Snape.  
'Anyway, why would the Snakes not have done it?'  
'Sophie Parson was talking to some of them-'  
'WHAT? Talking to Snakes? Who?'  
'Sirius' brothers' crew. You know, the two fifth year boys and that girl.'  
'You mean Cody-what's-her-name?'  
'Yup. Anyway, turns out they've had things stolen and think we did it.'  
Another silence.  
'_Did_ we?'  
'No!'  
''Cos I wouldn't put it past Siri and James-'  
'No. Besides, they spent all day hiding from Lily.'  
A silent smirk from behind the rock.  
'Oh, well, never mind it now. I suppose we'll have to drop the whole thing and go home tomorrow. I knew it wouldn't work out.'  
A frown. They were going home again? Well, that was- great!, the sensible part of his brain told him. They'd have peace and quiet again!  
And Lily would be gone.  
So? That was a good thing, surely.  
He barely registered that the girls were leaving, chattering about inane things as they left.  
So. They were going. Good.  
_Really. Excellent._  
Pagebreak  
The evening was long, but night fell as swiftly as ever. They all huddled round the campfire, plates of steaming soup on their laps with bread- Crabbe was ever so proud- to dunk in it.  
'Caught your thief yet?' asked Dolohov casually.  
'No.' said Regulus, ''course not, not after only one day, but Cody heard something interesting in the pub.'  
'Oh yes?'  
'They said the woman who helps run this campsite- you know, the loud one- was behaving like she had something on her mind. Sort of out of character, you know? Like she's hiding something. So I was wondering- you know- well, she was nice- seemed nice, I mean- but maybe…'  
'I see.'  
They fell silent, until a latecomer came.  
'Sorry.' panted Mulciber. 'Just forgot the time. Any supper left?'  
'Plenty.' grunted Crabbe, ladling the beautiful steam into a deep plate and passing it over.  
'Where've you been, mate?' asked Regulus.  
'Just around.' he said vaguely. 'Anything interesting go on?'  
'I heard the Gryffindors talking.' said Snape quietly. 'They spoke of leaving tomorrow.'  
Six separate yelps around the fireplace, yelps choked quickly down.  
'What? Already?' said one yelper (Regulus), 'But Sophie said-'  
'You've been hanging out with Gryffindors?' said a disapproving Avery.  
'Just the one.'  
'Well, I don't like that at all. We're to keep away from them, aren't we, Dolohov?'  
'Oh, yes. Yes. Of course. Keeping away. Right.'  
Avery scowled.  
'Anyone'd think you were hiding something, talking like that.'  
'Oh no. Not hiding anything. Of course not.'  
'I hope the rest of you agree with me, at least.'  
'Well-' tentatively, from Mulciber '-I can't help but notice that some of them are- are all right.'  
'What? Some of them are half-bloods! No offence, Snape.'  
Snape gave his well-practiced pseudo-forgiving smile.  
'Anyone else got unforgivable things to say about blood traitors and filth?' (No one noticed how very… forcedly he was speaking).  
The blushes around the fire gave some of the Snakes away. Avery stood up in disgust and marched off to his tent. Some of his friends followed him.  
The group around the fire- somewhat smaller- was avoiding its other member's eyes studiously. Except for Regulus.  
'Well, I like Sophie, she's a jolly useful person for detecting, and she's a laugh. So there. And Mulciber, are you_ pink_?'  
'You're not meant to point it out. You're meant to ignore it politely.'  
Regulus ignored this comment (politely).  
'Has someone got a GIRLFRIEND?' His sing-song voice was even more annoying than his whistle, as they now discovered.  
'For goodness' sake, Reg.' snapped Snape. 'Stop being so childish. What Mulciber does in his own free time is entirely his own business. Drop it.'  
Some _very_ fervent nods around the fire.  
But the damage was done. The group had split up, as Slytherins were never meant to.

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*commentator's voice* Next time on Relaxing Holidays: All hell breaks loose between camps as secrets are revealed to all, fights break out and- dada- a thief is (hopefully) brought to account. *trumpets blare, curtains fall and commentator bows*  
*hypnotist comes on, takes out shiny pendulum* You will all REVIEW… you are feeling very REVIEWISH… very REVIEWISH indeed… your hand creeps towards the REVIEW button… types in several lauding words… *readers falls prey to hypnotic powers, eyes doing that swirly thing, you know, the one on cartoons, and follows the hypnotist's instruction*


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